


Rockafeller Skank

by erdeanduncan



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Language, Introspection, M/M, Romance, Slash, Substance Abuse, Washington D.C., apparently that's a popular tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erdeanduncan/pseuds/erdeanduncan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I made Niall kind of broken. It was fun. </p>
<p>Washington, DC university AU. So much frat life. Soooo many snap backs.</p>
<p>Also, theater.</p>
<p>Also, activism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who Is This Drunk Guy Not Wearing Clothing in the Middle of Winter?

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Swearing (including use of the word c**t), car accidents, alcohol reference, dangerous level of inebriation.
> 
> Title: song by the same name by Fatboy Slim.
> 
> So far, only about 2,000 words longs. We'll see where this goes.
> 
> Enjoy!

Louis is very, very cold. He digs his fists deeper into his pockets, chewing on the scarf he has pulled over his face. He walks towards his car in the dark. The only light, a sickening orangey-brown color, is coming from a nearby street lamp. After what feels like several hours, he’s at the driver’s door. Louis sighs. He knows that eventually he will have to take his hands out of his pockets. But, he thinks hopefully, maybe there will be gloves in his glove compartment. It’s called that for a reason, right? Louis slowly pulls his hands out of his coat, fumbling around with his keys. He scratches the lock a few times but finally manages to push the key through entirely and turn in with a satisfying click. He opens the car door and lunges over the driver’s seat to the glove compartment, frantically yanking it open to find an old packet of tissues that has started disintegrating, an empty chocolate box, and a single rolled cigarette.

Maybe he can wrap his hands in the tissues to warm them.

Louis sticks the key in the ignition and immediately turns the heat on full blast. Which does nothing except blow cold air up his nose. Still, Louis sits for a minute, hands back in his pockets, waiting for his car - really his mom’s car which he secretly borrowed for the night - to warm up maybe a tiny bit. But then he looks at his dashboard. His gas reader thingy (Louis does not really understand cars) is dangerously close to “E”.

\--

Louis is now driving around the relatively abandoned streets on the outskirts of DC, looking for a not overpriced gas station. “Why do you do these things to yourself, Tommo?” he mutters, his tone injected with a weird mix of self loathing, desperation, dry humor, and queasiness that can only happen at two in the morning on a Monday. As he’s scowling out the driver’s window at a sign that reads $4.50/gallon, he catches something out of the corner of his eye. Oh no. A stupid city deer will not be besting Louis Tomlinson tonight. Louis hates city deer; they do not run away when you get near them. It isn’t natural. What are these deer thinking, standing in the middle of abandoned roads when they should be frolicking in forests, waiting to be shot by hunters or eaten by bears or whatever?

Except, oh. The deer is much closer than he thought. Louis swerves out of the way, barely missing it, but then he realizes -

Oh shit. “Oh shit!”

That was not a deer at all. That was a -

“Oh shit.”

Louis slams on the brakes, and though he wasn’t going incredibly fast to begin with, he still smacks painfully into his steering wheel. Louis frantically tries to roll down his window when he remembers that the window roller (still bad at cars) is broken. Forgetting to close his door or even turn the car off, Louis flat-out runs over to the person he almost hit. Who is only wearing a snap-back, boxers, and white calf length socks. And is angrily swinging a bottle of whiskey at him.

“Oh, shit.”

“Heeyy!” the guy slurs. “You...fuckin’ ‘most hit me, ya cunt!”

Really? This asshole is trying to put the blame on him? Louis Tomlinson does not think so. He was originally planning on running over to throw his life down at this guy’s feet. Beg for forgiveness. Shower him with remorse and love. But now. Well.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Louis shouts, with a really nice emphasis on the word fuck. Well played, Tommo. “Do you really have the nerve to accuse me when your drunk ass is stumbling around in the middle of the street!?”

Louis crosses his arms smugly and glares at who he will from now on dub “Douchy Frat Boy”. Really, Louis’ dubbed a lot of guys “Douchy Frat Boy” but this one may be the most deserving of the title. 

“Wurshnt,” says Douchy Frat Boy.

“Excuse me?” says Louis threateningly. In kind of a half whisper. It’s also a good line.

Douchy Frat Boy looks at him through very bloodshot, glazed eyes. “Said. Was. ‘Nt.”

“Are you telling me you weren’t in the middle of the street or that your ass wasn’t drunk?” Douchy Frat Boy thinks for about thirty seconds. 

“Both. Now...‘uck off, mothafucka.” And Douchy Frat Boy picks up where he left off, stumbling away from Louis. Which Louis simply cannot have.

“Wait!” Louis screeches. That didn’t come off quite as intimidating as he’d intended. By now, Douchy Frat Boy is already a few yards in ahead of Louis. How is he so good at stumbling? 

Louis fast walks up to Douchy Frat Boy. “Wait,” he says again. “You can’t just - stumble around like this all night. Getting in people’s way when they’re driving. Can’t you like, call a cab to take you home or something?”

Douchy Frat Boy looks at Louis again, as if confused that he’s still there. Then, out of nowhere, Douchy Frat Boy starts laughing. It starts out a little hoarse, only slightly louder than a whisper, but then it grows and grows until Douchy Frat Boy is doubled over on the ground, whiskey splashing out of his bottle as his entire body shakes.  
Louis is now very panicked. Clearly, he’s dealing with a psychopath here. Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy. As Louis starts backing away slowly, his eyes wide with fear, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy gasps between drunk laughs, “How...can...‘ave...phone...when...no...clothes?!”

Louis stares Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy again, slightly impressed that he was even able to make this observation. Maybe he isn’t so drunk, after -

Oh. Nope. Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy has suddenly stopped laughing and is now dry heaving, in preparation of...and there it is. Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy has vomited on the pavement and also a little on his own hands. And before Louis can even be one thousand percent done with this situation, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy has fallen backwards onto his ass, pointing at his own vomit, and laughing yet again.

This guy is seriously sick in at least three ways, Louis thinks.

You should not get involved in this, Louis thinks.

And yet. Louis looks at Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy. He looks at his car. He looks back at Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy. Then he looks back at his car. And then Louis realizes something, maybe for the fiftieth time that night -

“OH, SHIT!” Louis dashes over to his car, still turned on, still running, thank God. He jumps into the driver’s seat, the gas reader thingy is now past empty, but if he can just turn it around and drive to the gas station, he doesn’t care, he’ll pay ten dollars a gallon, just let it not -

“Oh. Shit.” This time, Louis intentionally smacks his head against the steering wheel. Granted, the station is only about twenty yards away, but the thought of having to push his car over there in the freezing cold, and then what if someone saw Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy lying on the ground? Awkward questions would be asked, Louis may be incorrectly labeled as Douchy Psychopath Inconsiderate Jerk Face or something. Louis sighs. He trudges back over to Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy.

“Can you stand up?”

Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy is still sitting on his ass and laughing, but now it seems sort of dazed, like he's about to pass out, or even worse, throw up again. At any rate, he ignores Louis.

“Right. You’re coming with me.” Louis grabs Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy by the armpits and hoists him up. He’s freezing.

Unfortunately, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy chooses this inopportune moment to notice Louis. “Gerroffa me,” he yells half-heartedly in between laughs. He also starts swinging his arms in lazy circles.

“Just - let - me - help - you - a’right?” Louis says between gritted teeth.  
Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy’s laughter increases again at this, and to Louis’ horror, he attempts to turn around. His inebriated looking eyes gaze hazily at Louis. He’s slack jawed, but his mouth is halfway turned up in a twisted, humorless smile. “Can’t be helped, can I?” he says with alarming clarity. And then he starts laughing harder than ever.

And this freaks Louis the fuck out. He almost drops Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy on the ground and runs in the opposite direction to the relative safety of his gasless car. But Louis can’t do that, because Louis has Principles and Morals and maybe someone will notice him helping out this poor defenseless civilian and give him a medal of honor or something. So instead of dropping Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy, he bites his lip, tries to ignore the strong smell of vomit and alcohol coming from Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy’s body, and drags him to Louis’ car. He struggles to open the passenger’s door and roughly shoves Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy inside.

\--

The gas station attendant looks suspiciously at Louis, as he thrusts four twenties into his hand. “Just, keep the change, okay?” Louis mutters, refusing to meet the attendant’s eyes.

“Is he gonna be alright?” The attendant asks, pointing in the general direction of Louis’ car.

No. I don’t know. I don’t even know who this scary boy is. Please help me, Louis thinks.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Louis says, pivoting on his heel and fast walking back towards the car.

Once he settles himself into the driver’s seat, Louis realizes that Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy has fallen asleep, curled into a fairly tiny ball considering his frame is rather large and beefy. His entire body is shaking. Louis is very nervous. Louis tentatively pokes him.

“Hey. You in there, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy?” 

Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy grunts and squints at Louis. “Wha?”

Oh thank God again. Making his voice sound as not pissed off as it is humanly possible to be, Louis asks, “Can you. Please. Tell me your address.”

Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy screws his eyes shut again, clearly thinking against his own will. Louis realizes with a fresh wave of horror that Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy is not only still holding the bottle of whiskey, but is actually trying to raise it to his lips. Louis is afraid to try to take it away at this point. He doesn’t want to lose any limbs tonight, thank you.

After about a minute of silence, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy is able to say, “three...thous’n...mass...nor...’est”. 

Well that’s not too far, Louis thinks reasonably. 

\--

As he pulls up to 3000 Massachusetts Northwest, Louis sees what is obviously a frat house in the final throws of a party.

“Welp, let’s get this over with, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy,” Louis says brightly.

By this point, Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy has really passed the fuck out, but Louis doesn’t have the energy to care anymore. He pulls Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy out of the car and looks down sadly at his pale body. Well, he mostly doesn’t have the energy to care. Sighing, Louis takes his cushy warm coat off, still struggling to support Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy with one arm, and places it around his shoulders. Good enough.

After he’s dropped Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy on the stoop of the Douchy Psychopath Frat House, Louis rings the door bell and runs as fast as his legs can carry him back to his warm, safe, and now gas-filled car. He’s about to drive away, but he just. Louis waits in front of the house, slumped beneath the steering wheel with his headlights turned off, for several minutes. Finally, a pack of more Douchy Frat Boys come to the door, see the body laying on their porch, and start - laughing. Of fucking course.

“Isleeeee!” Louis thinks he hears one of the Douchy Frat Boys saying.

What a weird fucking name.

Louis has to wait until Isle is inside the Douchy Psychopath Frat House and the front door is completely closed to be able to turn his headlights on and start the hour long drive home.

He looks at the clock on his dashboard. It reads 3:00 A.M.

“Oh, shit.”


	2. Simon Cowell Is Just Really Fucking Pretentious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis goes to drama class, Simon Cowell is the professor. Little Mix. Ed Sheeran (briefly). It's a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am really sorry to the person who is following this that I haven't updated for a month, and the update is super short and lame! Unfortunately, I think it will be sporadic so I don't know when the next update is coming. Hopefully I will not procrastinate!
> 
> PS did you know that "monsterpiece theater" exists as a tag for this site? Who is writing Sesame Street fic and where do I get some? Is there One Direction/Sesame Street fic? Very important. Need to know.

The rest of winter break is as good as it’s expected to be. New Year’s is Louis getting drunk at Stan’s house with a couple of their friends from high school. They’re all upperclassmen by now, so everyone has gotten used to high school friend limbo. It’s a weird stretch of time for Louis. After months of not speaking to anyone from his childhood, he just falls back into it. Not worrying about who he is now, or how he's acting as if nothing has changed when all of it has, or that he probably wouldn’t be friends with these people if he met them today.

But Louis still jokes with them, still tells them dumb stories about parties and sex (though Louis is careful to be vague about that part). And they still laugh at his jokes, still swap stories of their own. They reminisce about old teachers and gossip about which friends have already gotten married or pregnant, or are in jail now. And they drink their beer or cheap booze mixed with fruit juice in the basements of their parent's houses, watching weird movies from the 80s or listening to songs they used to dance to at prom. 

And Louis accepts it, despite its weirdness and despite the fact he’s not actually moving forward in his relationships with any of these people, because it’s something to do and someone to talk to while he waits to go back to his real life.

But it’s always that hanging space after New Year’s and before school starts up again that makes Louis uncomfortable. His mom is too clingy, he doesn’t want to spend time with her anymore even when he knows he should. He starts finding excuses to leave home, get out of the house on stupid errands almost every day, asking his mom if he can take her to work just so he can drive around town, listening to the radio and singing absentmindedly to songs he half remembers. His sisters - he loves his sisters - are little and always around, wanting to play with him or mess with his shit. He’s constantly tripping over little toys and shoes, he feels like Miss Hannigan. 

He told the Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy story to Stan one night when they were hanging out under his back deck, passing a cheap bottle of Stoli back and forth. Stan laughed hysterically throughout (Louis is an excellent storyteller), going so far as to actually snort vodka out of his nose when Louis delivered the “not wearing clothes” line.

After Stan made Louis run inside the house and get him some paper towels (“it’s your fault, and now I can’t breathe”) he asked,

“But what were you doing in DC at 2 in the morning anyway?”

Louis shrugged, picking at the label on the bottle of vodka. “I had to...pick up some things.” 

Stan gave Louis a look but didn't question him.

\--

Louis bursts into his apartment, dragging his suitcase to the middle of the living room and allowing it to topple over before flopping down on the wood floor himself. He can hear his mother down the hallway, struggling with groceries she insisted on buying him (because he was really going to eat kale), but Louis doesn’t want to open the door for her just yet. He’s the first roommate back, a few days before the start of the spring semester. He Ed's coming back Sunday morning, and Jesy doesn’t know where she’s going until five minutes before she gets there. Just a few days to himself before he has to deal with - anyone.

Louis is content to lay on the floor, his floor, but his mother’s insistent knocking and repeated calling of his name has started to distract him.

“I’ll miss you, baby.”

“Yeah, you too. Now get out of here, before someone mistakes you for a college student and offers you a joint.”

“Y’know, it’s been awhile. Maybe I should take them up on it...”

“Mom.”

“Louis.”

Louis doesn’t want to keep up the cheesy, stupid banter with his mom. It feels too normal. He sometimes selfishly wishes it were stiff and awkward with her, that they could say goodbye and he wouldn’t feel it when she’s gone. The worst part is that it’s become more painful the older he is. The very first day she dropped him off at college, Louis barely felt a thing. He had been working so hard to prepare himself for the homesickness, it never came. He had friends to make and a life to live. But now, despite all of his impatience and longing for independence, Louis can actually feel a lump rising in his throat. He realizes more and more what it means to be her son; only now is he truly starting to understand what he means to her. 

“Welp, see you later,” he says cheerfully, walking her to the door.

“I love you, sweet pea.”

“I know, I know.” Louis steps back, grins out the side of his mouth, and slants his eyes, crossing his arms protectively in front of his chest. His mom looks at him. Takes him in. He thinks maybe she understands, because she just gives him a small smile in return and leaves.

\--

Louis is not one to be late to class, especially when that class is the fundamentals of acting elective he finally has enough room in his schedule to take. So, he has set his alarm for 6:30 even though the class itself doesn’t start until 8:55 because he needs to find the perfect aesthetic, something that says artsy and hip, but not too flamboyant or pretentious and - honestly, Louis has had his exact outfit chosen since Sunday morning. He still looks himself over in the mirror, wondering if Professor Cowell will want the class to call him Professor Cowell or by his first name like the rest of the drama professors do.

He’s heard a lot about Simon (everyone else calls him Simon behind his back, anyway) and not much good. He’s moody and temperamental, he’s made students cry in the middle of class, and he’s obsessed with theater. Apparently, Simon considers it more important than real classes like International Development or Cross Cultural Communications or...something. Louis nervously squeezes too much hair gel into his hands and curses under his breath.

“Louis!” comes Ed’s voice from his bedroom. Well, maybe not exactly under his breath.

“Sorry, man!” Louis will have to make it up to Ed later, because right now he is entirely focused on going to the kitchen and getting a balanced breakfast in order to energize himself for class. And also getting hair gel off his hands.

After grabbing a frozen pastry and a coffee (no sugar with a splash of skim milk) Louis heads out the door of his apartment complex a full thirty minutes before Fun. 1 is supposed to start, allowing him arrive at room 112 far earlier than anyone else. It’s the black box theater, and Louis is happy to say he’s performed there before.

Louis likes black boxes a lot: they’re experimental spaces where the audience can actually be a part of the onstage presence. The layout of the theater is usually in a square, and the audience either sits on risers or in chairs on the floor. If a director is really good, they’ll have the actors running throughout the black box and interacting with the audience, utilizing all of the exits and entrances in the theater.

While the audience interaction is great, the best part about the black box (in Louis’ opinion) is that its design can be as minimalistic as a couple of cubes onstage with everyone wearing jeans and t-shirts, or as complex as making multiple scene changes and using experimental seating formations, as if the black box were transformed into a real, actual theater.

It’s a tough space to work with, but the end product is usually so interesting and beautiful, Louis thinks it makes all of the effort that went into making sure the actors cheat out correctly or that the crew doesn’t knock over set pieces during blackouts completely worth it.

Louis sets his coffee down next to a chair in the second row, not quite but almost in the middle of one of the risers, sits down, and bites into his PopTart expectantly. After a few minutes of silent chewing and deep breathing exercises, some students Louis vaguely recognizes from the Department of Performing arts walk into the room. They were in the freshman showcase from last semester, and Louis sighs as he remembers that he’ll probably be one of the only upperclassmen here. Fun. 1 is, after all, a basic level theater course, and people outside the major don’t generally take it. As more students trickle in (still no sign of Simon...maybe he’s going to drop down from the hanging lights on the ceiling in a surprise attack), Louis finally sees someone he knows.

“Pez!” he calls excitedly, standing up from his chair and knocking all his crumbs on an unsuspecting freshman in front of him. The freshman gives him a death glare as Perrie shouts “Lou!” back, knocking past people to run up and give Louis a hug. Perrie will hug anything that holds still long enough to let her, and she also holds on for an uncomfortably long amount of time, something that Louis has forgotten about until this moment.

“Pez,” Louis says in a mouthful of her hair, “it’s gotten weird again.”

Perrie jerks her head away from Louis - her hair is still in his mouth, somehow - and looks at him confusedly for a few seconds before -

“Ohhhhh! Sorry, with the hugging and...right!” But Perrie looks more excited than embarrassed and apologetic, which Louis would have preferred, plus she’s being far too loud for a black box theater crowded with overly confident second semester freshman.

Louis rolls his eyes affectionately, delicately extracts her hair from his mouth, and sits down again. He remembers the first time he met Perrie, how much he had disliked her loud mouth and long hugs. She had seemed so fake to him, so clearly trying to play the part of loud mouthed overly friendly theater girl. A lot of people were instantly charmed by her, but something about Perrie’s southern twang and long, thick hair that changed colors every other week was grating. Besides, Perrie had exclusively done productions with the department of performing arts while Louis chose one of the school’s unofficial theater troupes as his home. The DPA has a notorious reputation of being stocked with snobs and overly-dramatic assholes who think they’re better than every other theater troupe on campus - in Louis' opinion, of course.

As more stragglers crowd into seats in the far corners of the theater, a man dressed in a black suit jacket, white shirt unbuttoned so that just a bit of chest hair peeks through, and dark wash jeans that are the perfect mix between skinny and straight leg walks in from stage right. Perrie looks as excited as ever and gives him a princessy wave. To Louis’ horror, Simon flashes her a small smile in return.

“Didn’t I tell you? I know Simon from last semester when we worked on Our Town together,” Perrie stage whispers to Louis, attracting the attention of some nearby freshmen. Perrie actually is fairly fake, it’s just that Louis has adjusted himself to this aspect of her personality and now adores it. 

“I only worked backstage on it, you dipshit. It's just that Simon would never deign to speak to a lowly stage hand, is all", Louis stage whispers back. Unfortunately, Simon takes this opportunity to look directly at Louis and continues to stare at him as he gives his welcome-to-this-theater-class-where-your-ass-will-be-thoroughly-kicked-if-you-step-one-toe-out-of-line speech.

“...and remember,” Simon says through an obnoxiously unrealistic British accent, “that while this class isn’t for people who want an easy A...I once again suggest you try the art department if you’re looking for that...it is here as an opportunity to perform. For getting to be someone you normally don’t get to be. Take this chance I have presented to you, because you may never get another.”

Louis mutters “thanks, Uncle Simon” to Perrie as she puts her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Simon looks at Louis, eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

“Louis, Louis Tomlinson, Si - professor,” says Louis.

“And have you really made a fourth sarcastic comment to Miss Edwards during my speech, Tomlinson? Are you really trying that hard to garner her attention?”

Ugh, garner? Who even says that? Louis immediately decides that it’s imperative he put Simon back in his overly hair-gelled place. “Well, that wouldn’t make much sense, professor, since I’m gay.” Nervous laughter from the freshmen. Perrie shoots Louis a warning look.

“What a surprise, a gay man decides to take a theater class!” More laughter. “Regardless of your sexual preferences, Louis Tomlinson, I suggest you don’t make snide remarks that will inevitably make you look like a twat. Do it again, and you’re out of my class. Understood?”

“Yes, professor.” And Louis at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“If there are no more interruptions,” continues Simon, “let’s start on the attendance sheet. Arnolds, Jenny...”

Simon continues to read down his roster, and Louis tries to look unconcerned as he mentally punches himself in the face. How could he have fucked up on the very first day of class? He’s got a motor mouth, and he makes dick comments, and his comeback wasn’t even that great, not nearly as great as Simon’s (except what even is a twat?) and Simon is never going to love Louis and accept him as his protégée, and -

“Horan, Niall.”

“Here, Professor.”

That voice sounds familiar somehow. Louis cranes his neck to look at Horan, Niall and sees a snapback, an obnoxiously colored tank top, and some ridiculously tanned arms. Louis has a horrible feeling he knows this Horan, Niall..."

Louis alternates between looking curiously at this mysteriously snap-backed boy and thinking awful thoughts about his comeback abilities until Simon reaches “Tomlinson, Louis”, and Louis barely pays attention as he lets out a despondent “here.”

“And we won’t be seeing any more problems from you, will we?” Simon asks, staring Louis down.

Louis says, “Of course not, Professor,” and smirks at the wall. He may not have won this round, but at least he’s managed to stand his ground. Simon almost seems to nod approvingly. Louis starts to reconsider the possibility of not living out the rest of his life in a very deep hole.

After he’s handed out the syllabus, Simon lets the class go early because he ‘needs a smoke’. Their first assignment is easy enough, to pick any monologue and read it aloud. It’s participation only, but Simon is planning to ‘rip each and every one apart.’

Louis and Perrie collect their things and start to head to their next classes. Perrie gives Louis a swift kiss on the cheek, saying that she’s got to meet the girls for lattes and first class of the semester gossip. “And don’t worry, you’ll be on the top of the list,” she adds loudly, batting her eyelids. Louis never understood how Perrie could be so feminine and so precocious at the same time.

“Glad to oblige” he says, before giving her a quick pat on the arm and heading for the door. Louis doesn’t want to lose sight of this snapback character. Pushing aside some angry looking girls in leotards, Louis spots the snapback in question and follows it towards the quad (it’s not stalking, Louis would have headed there eventually anyway). If the boy can stop for just a second, Louis can do a quick walk by...finally. Horan Niall, snapback extraordinaire, is headed straight toward a large group of what looks like. 

Are those frat bros? Wheels are turning in Louis’ brain, gears are slowly clicking into place. His fast walk turns into a slow trudge until he’s finally stopped a good ten feet from the group of bros settled near the dining hall. Snapback boy slaps one of his bro friends on the ass. Louis looks on in horror as everything falls into place and Horan Niall turns around in slow motion. It can’t be...

...wait, didn’t Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy have an Irish accent before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Louis' not a drama major, he's Political Science or something dumb like that. I forgot to mention that I'm very sorry about using the word 'psychopath' flippantly, and it's not something that I as a person would ever do. However, it is something that incredibly insensitive Louis Tomlinson in this story would do.
> 
> Umm. I feel like I made Simon too pretentious, and I think their banter is horrible, but I really wanted it understood that Louis feels very comfortable with his sexuality (which I guess is also unrealistic) because he goes to a liberal college and hasn't been exposed to bullying or not-acceptance with the groups of people he's hung out with.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!


	3. harry styles is an accidental manipulator but it's fine because we all knew that anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is drunk and basically nothing happens, but Louis has feelings about that (sorry Larry shippers these dudes are not endgame).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so it's been a year. Sorry about that! School, excuses, I hated my writing for a bit and now I reread it and suddenly am like 'WOW I'm an amazing writer what is wrong with me?!!?' I'm an embarrassment honestly. Next chapter will be up? Eventually?

Harry’s name had gotten a lot of revisions in Louis’ phone. He remembers the evolution well, how he changed it every time their relationship did. First, it was curly - freshman floor. Then, it became Harry S, then Harry, then Harold. Then things became more serious - Hazzah. Shortened to Haz. It stayed like that for a time, but then it started to switch back and forth, sometimes Harry, sometimes Harold. It went back to Haz a handful of times, but then it stayed at Hazzah for a little bit too long. Louis was overstaying his welcome with Hazzah.

When his phone buzzes at 9:08 PM on the first Friday after classes, Louis is alone in his apartment, and the name on the screen reads Harry Styles.

heyyyyy can I come overrr?

Louis wants to say, “No, you really can’t.” “I’m having some alone time and I don’t want to be disturbed.” “After everything, that’s what you have to say?” “Leave me alone.” “Please.”

So naturally Louis texts yeah, of course man and sprints to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror. He is not wearing appropriate Harry-Styles-visiting clothing at all, grey sweatpants and a college sweatshirt and no socks. You can’t even see how much Louis’ been working out his arms over winter break. His hair is a mess and he smells like greasy pizza and Barefoot.

He barely has time to put on deodorant and make his hair look artfully disheveled before Harry Styles comes bursting through the front door. Louis casually walks out of the bathroom, trying to look like he didn’t just spend the past five minutes experimenting with one of Jesy’s more masculine headscarves. He arranges his face into a slightly unimpressed smirk which melts away as soon as he sees Harry.

Harry is probably crossfaded right now, because he is leaning against the doorway unsteadily, smiling at nothing. Plus, he smells like a lot of alcohol and smoke mixed in with the usual vanilla and guy scent. Even though they’re bloodshot and not as clear as normal, his eyes are still intensely blue-green. He looks kind of dopey and weird but also really beautiful and really hot, though maybe he isn’t quite as toned as Louis anymore. Louis doesn’t know when he became a 15-year-old, winning small victories over his arm muscles while waxing poetic about some fucked up dude standing in his door.

It takes a few seconds, but Harry catches sight of Louis and his face lights up. He pushes himself off the wall with a little more grace than Louis would have expected and half-skips towards him, reaching over Louis’ outstretched hand (why did he even try to go for a handshake?) to give him a suffocating hug. Of course, Harry holds on for a second too long, maybe a few seconds, and he breathes “hiiiii I’ve missed you how are you” into the side of Louis’ head.

“Probably a little better off than you,” Louis says, removing himself from Harry and patting his head.

“I’m fine, Grimmy just gave me some really good stuff is all...we were all pregaming before going out tonight. But wanted to see you, Lou.” Harry looks at Louis like he has nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, when he says that.

“Yeah? You guys going to Porter again?”

“Probably...but I don’t know, I miss everyone so much and I want to see them. But I miss you too, and now that I’m here...I really wanna stay?”

Again, Louis wants to say no. He wants to tell Harry Styles to get his own life and to leave Louis well enough alone, thanks. But he doesn’t. Louis looks at Harry looking at him, and he can’t let Harry down.

“I mean, I was just gonna be a hermit and watch Netflix or something tonight, work my way through some boxed wine. But you know you can always hang.” Even through Harry’s crossfaded haze, even through Louis’ best acting, Harry can still see that Louis’ smile is a little tight, his eyes aren’t quite crinkled at the corners enough.

“Are you sure, Lou? Because if you don’t want - I mean, if you’d rather be alone...” 

Harry tries so hard not to look disappointed, he tries not to manipulate Louis, but Louis is so used to it by now that he doesn’t even hesitate to say, “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re my best friend. I always want to be around you.”

And in a way, Louis isn’t lying. He does always want to be around Harry, but he also wants never to see Harry again. Louis wants to be the ice king who ignores Harry and keeps him at the end of a loose string that he pulls and plays with when he’s bored. He wants Harry to know that he hurt Louis, and he wants the satisfaction of knowing that Harry finding out will hurt Harry as much as Harry had hurt Louis. 

And worst of all, Louis wants to pretend that nothing had ever happened and he could be around Harry every day, living in blissful ignorance of Harry’s..feelings towards Louis. Able to ignore their deviation from Louis’ feelings about...about Harry. 

And now Harry is smiling again, his dry lips cracking at the corners. He licks them and flops down (this time not as gracefully) on Jesy’s futon she had brought from her step-dad’s house in Jersey. “What are we watching tonight?”

“Well...” Louis pauses; he needs to catch his breath. He hasn’t had time to consider the consequences of letting Harry into his physical (emotional) space, right now. He knows this will hurt tomorrow, or maybe in five minutes. “I haven’t really decided...yet,” he finishes lamely. At least it was a safe, neutral answer. “What do you want to watch?”

“Hmmm...” Harry pauses, thinking. Louis doesn’t know why because he’s going to pick something cute and romantic and worn-in, like he always does when he’s drunk or high, or sometimes even just sleepy, or stressed out from an exam. “I think that When Harry Met Sally is on Netflix right now? Do you want to watch that?”

“Who doesn’t love watching the evolution of Meg Ryan’s hair throughout the 80s?” Harry laughs at that, warm and round but a little raspy, his mouth enormous and spread out. It’s sloppy, but still. “I’ll make us some popcorn, okay?” Louis asks. Harry nods, stretched out on the futon. “I’ll wait here, okay?” He rolls over onto his stomach and yawns comfortably.

Now that Harry can’t see, Louis is free to stalk to the kitchen and slam the microwave door shut on their popcorn. Pushing the popcorn button aggressively, Louis starts contemplating his attack strategy for the rest of the night and comes up completely blank. He shouldn’t be so floored that Harry came over, he shouldn’t be taken so off guard, but. He is. 

Instead of taking any immediate action, Louis instead decides to chug as much boxed wine as he possibly can before the microwave dings. Carrying the popcorn bag between his teeth (now diminished boxed wine in hand) and half dreading that Harry’s fallen asleep already, Louis walks back into the living room. 

During the two minutes he was gone, Harry has set up the TV, brought in blankets and pillows from Louis’ room, and positioned himself in a cocoon in the middle of the futon. Louis lets out a strangled laugh and Harry looks over. “You look ridiculous,” Louis says through the popcorn bag he’s still holding with this teeth. “So do you,” Harry says. “Look, I’ve made us a nest!”

“I can see that.” Louis has approached the sofa by now and drops the popcorn into Harry’s lap, setting the wine on the coffee table in front of them. He turns around and stares expectantly at Harry, who’s started to look nervous. Harry tries to nonchalantly move to the right so Louis won’t be sitting on him but topples over in the mound of blankets he’d wrapped around himself. Louis can’t help but snort as he tries to untangle Harry and save the popcorn at the same time. Harry glares at Louis but can’t for more than a second before he gives up and says, “I do look really ridiculous, don’t I?” 

“Yeah, but that’s why I love -” Louis freezes, looking slightly to the left of Harry, “- love you, man.” And maybe punches his arm in an embarrassingly brotherly way. He can’t back away from it, but he can change its significance. Louis anxiously glances at Harry, who seems nervous again but a little excited. That bastard. Of course he wants Louis to love him, Harry wants everyone to love him. And then, Harry loves everyone.

But the moment passes. Harry’s able to extract the popcorn, thankfully unharmed, from his mess of blankets. They start the movie on opposite sides of the futon, Louis cracking jokes and Harry laughing along quieter and quieter. Louis wonders when was the last time Harry slept at a normal hour. Finally, when Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan are singing Oklahoma! in a department store and Billy’s ex shows up, Harry mumbles, “I’m so - tired. Do you...could I...”

Louis knows what’s happening. Harry wants to sleep, he wants to be next to Louis. They’ve been inching closer to each other throughout the movie, re-adjusting themselves and cracking their necks, tired of being confined to their personal bubbles. “You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?” Louis puts on a mother hen tone, which Harry has become too tired to see through. “Come here, baby boy, lean on me”.

Harry looks blearily at Louis. “You sure? I mean, are you really...”

Louis has started to lose his patience. If Harry’s going to take advantage of him, he should at least have the decency to do it wholeheartedly. “I’m sure, Harold. Just go to sleep, alright? You sound like a chain smoker.”

“Okay...” Harry still looks doubtful, but the desire for warm bodies and sleepiness has overpowered him. “But wake me up for the end, alright?”

“I will”. Louis doesn’t.

\--

Much later, when it’s still dark but started to turn light in the bottom corners of the sky, Louis is startled awake by the door opening a little too loudly. Jesy. She turns on the light and immediately turns it off again, breathing in sharply, probably because she’s noticed two spooning boys on a futon in the middle of their living room. Louis pretends he’s asleep as Jesy tiptoes over to them and sighs. He can hear the disappointment but will deal with it in the morning, after Harry’s gone.

When Jesy goes to her room, Louis wriggles far enough away from Harry so that he can crack his back. Harry reacts to the movement, his skin prickling slightly where his t-shirt has started to come up around his stomach, frowning in his sleep. Now Louis is the one to sigh and wriggle back into Harry, who takes an arm and throws it over Louis’ abdomen, squeezing him tightly. Harry’s probably smiling now. Louis isn’t.

\-- 

“I just don’t understand why you have to keep going back to him?” Jesy glares at Louis over a tall nonfat soy latte.

“I don’t go back to him - he comes back to me!” After half an hour of being berated, Louis has become slightly irritated with Jesy. “I’m being a good friend, is all.”

“You’re so full of shit the barista can smell it,” Jesy says. Louis looks at Perrie helplessly, whose eyes flash. She hasn’t said anything in support of Jesy but he feels that she won’t be a valuable resource to him, either.  
“I just...Harry’s my friend. And I can’t just stop being with him because I have - had - feelings for him. In the past. We have a long history together, and one can’t just break those bonds after three years like they’re nothing.” He ends his last sentence with his nose turned upward, looking out the window of the coffee shop they’ve taken refuge in for the afternoon. It’s been flurrying off and on throughout the day, but the sky is heavy and grey. Full of impending doom, probably, Louis thinks.

“But can’t you see that he’s taking advantage of you, Lou?”

“No, I honestly can’t,” Louis says, as he clearly remembers thinking about how much Harry’s been taking advantage of him not eight hours ago. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Well,” says Jesy, “Don’t come crying to me when Harry pushes you too far”, looking as though she doesn’t know whether to hit him or hug him. Louis doesn’t see why, he knows he can handle it. Yes, Harry Styles is sort of accidentally using him, being overly physical and emotional and making Louis uncomfortable. Harry’s always there when Louis least wants him there, and never there when Louis needs him the most. But Louis can control his feelings for Harry perfectly well. Or well enough that Harry has only the slightest inkling they still exist, anyway.

After several awkward seconds of silence, Perrie blessedly breaks it by asking what monologue he’s going to use for Simon’s class. “I’m probably going to do one of mine from Our Town again, you know. I already have it memorized and everything, so it’ll be a lot easier for me.” Louis rolls his eyes gratefully and turns to a large book of monologues he’s brought. The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon looking it over, trying to find one that “calls to him” as Perrie claims.

Outside, the clouds continue to threaten snow, but it never does come.

\--


	5. Interlude of "Acting"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's acting, and meet cutes, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been, two years? ish?
> 
> This chapter was accidentally super short.
> 
> I got tired of writing "Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy" and shortened it to "DPFB."
> 
> There's more, probably

“Alvin! Don’t forget your chores! The wood needs a-cordin’ and the cows need a-milkin’! Alivin! Alivin! Al--” Louis sneaks a look at his audience from his position on the stage floor before he snaps up, both hands on his head and a look of terrorized confusion plaguing his face. 

“Wait a minute, my name’s not Alvin. That’s not my life! I’m not a hillbilly, I grew up in the Bronx! Leo’s taken everything, even my past!”

Louis holds for a beat, letting everyone drink him in before he breaks into a grin and extends his arm into a swooping bow. The majority of his acting class are applauding politely, and Louis hears at least a few chuckles rippling through the risers. He spots Perrie giggling and clapping exuberantly from the top row and smiles, almost to himself. His gaze travels, against his own will, to the front of the class where Simon is seated. He isn’t clapping, but his scowl doesn’t look any more scowly than usual, so Louis takes it as a good sign.

And as he makes his way towards his seat near Perrie, Louis can’t help but glance quickly at Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy - gathering intelligence only, of course. To Louis’ surprise, Frat Boy is clapping along with the rest of the class, the shadow of a laugh fading from his mouth. Louis colors slightly and looks determinedly at his chair. He has a destination, and he is focused only on that. Not on any suspiciously snap backed characters who may or may not find him hilarious, of course.

By the time Louis reaches his seat, the applause has died down and Simon has taken the stage himself. “Very well, Tomlinson. You chose a comedic monologue, which is frankly unsurprising for your - character. I’ll expect you to tackle more than that throughout the semester. Your choice provides us with no real depth; all we learned from this scene is that your comedic timing isn’t abysmal. As far as some of the emphasis you place on particular lines - well, let’s just say that it will need quite a bit of work. You’re reciting a monologue, not shouting at us from the other end of a football field. Your physical presence is far too exaggerated, as well. Do not fling yourself across the room as if you were a dying fish; there’s a fine line between genuine humor and camp. This monologue does not call for the latter. You will learn more about these techniques throughout the semester, if you’re lucky”.

Louis struggles against the innate urge to yell about the value of camp in a show like The Producers, focusing instead on Simon’s backhanded comment about Louis’ comedic timing. Yes, Louis tells himself, You do have excellent comedic timing. Remember this. Cherish it. 

Louis ignores the next two performances in a haze of deep self loathing and self righteous rage. Then, Perrie performs a frankly disturbing scene from Marat Sade, which Louis has the decency to pretend to violently wretch at when she’s through.

After offering Perrie some well-rounded criticism and the hint of a smile - “Teacher’s pet,” Louis mutters out of the corner of his mouth - Simon concludes the class with next week’s homework assignment.

“While we’ll certainly be returning to monologues in the future, our next task is to work on stage chemistry. You and your partner must focus your assigned scene on three interactions. No more, no less. Your scene must be completed within two weeks of assignment date, and you may choose your partners -- this time,” Simon narrows his eyes at Louis and Perrie, who are waggling their eyebrows in the universal signal for I will literally perish if I must share the stage with anyone but you, “against my better judgment, I presume.”

As class is dismissed, Perrie and Louis begin to gather up their bags, discussing which scene they should choose to perform. “I just want to do something violent, or garrish, you know?” says Perrie, casually pulling her blonde hair into a messy bun.

“You always want to do something violent,” Louis complains, “why can’t we just stick to comedy?”  
“Simon was just telling you that you need to step out of your comfort zone for these scenes! Do you never listen?”

Louis is about to argue further when he realizes that he is being approached. By a certain snapbacked someone. Oh god, Louis thinks desperately, not here. None of his friends from school know about their first meeting, and for Douchy Psycho Frat Boy to just, bring it up like that, that’s just incredibly rude, and -

“Hey man, I really liked your scene today.”

“Oh - uh, thanks.”

Perrie takes this very inopportune time to let out an obnoxious snort and elbow Louis in the lower back rather painfully.

“Oh, hey there, I’m Niall,” Douchy Psychopath Frat Boy says, extending a very muscular arm.

“Perrie Edwards, nice to meet ya! Great job today.”

DPFB laughs. “Yeah, right. My scene sucked - I’m not so great at the whole acting thing. You’re Louis, right?”

A short pause where Louis forgets his name, as he is vividly remembering that the last time he spoke to this person, he was not wearing any clothes and also basically threw up on Louis. “Wha? Oh, yeah, hey.”

“So listen, Louis, I figured you’d probably be partnering with - Perrie, right? - right, but I don’t really know anyone in this class, and you’re fucking hilarious. So, d’ya mind partnering with me for our two-person scene?”

Before Louis can respond, or can even think of a response other than why does this keep happening, Perrie butts in with, “Ooohhh, of course Louis would love to, wouldn’t you?!”

“Well, I -” Louis says.

“Really?” says DPFB. “Thanks so much, man, I really ‘preciate it. We can do a comedy scene if you want, too!”

“Great! Louis’ll meet you on Saturday afternoon, you’re not doing anything then, right?” Perrie might as well be sucking on a lollipop, she sounds so syrupy.

“Nope! Awesome, see you then.” And with that, Douchy Psychopathy Frat Boy swings his bag over his shoulder and leaves the theater.

\--

“What the hell, Perrie!” Louis rounds on his former friend. “How can we share the stage together now, as was always destined to be!”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Perrie says airily, “I just thought it would be funny to see you have to act with - that. Can’t have you taking my spot at the top of the class.”

Louis marvels at how someone so sugary one moment can be so bitter the next. Honestly, he is impressed.

“Besides, I think he might have a thing for you,” she adds with an exaggerated wink.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my entire life, and I am friends with Harry Styles,” Louis says stoutly. But he can feel his ears turning a violent magenta color.

“Methinks thou doth protest too much!” Perrie gives Louis a small twirl as they exit the theater. “Gotta go to class, babe, catch ya later!”

“Wait! You can’t just leave me like this! You’re so unfair, you’re the worst friend! I renounce our friendship!” Louis sighs. It is very difficult to be friends with theater people. Deciding to compartmentalize everything that just happened in the last 90 minutes, Louis blows off his next class (international development, which is boring, anyway) and returns to his apartment to play Fifa with Ed.

After several hours of shouting at the television and arguing with Jesy over the fashion choices of America’s youths, Louis rolls around in bed. He feels that things are changing around here. And Louis has not generally had good experiences with change.


End file.
